Training my mouth

(The story continues from here.)

(News flash: Emily's Victorian Bridal Chamber is out! Buy here!)

When the time came to train my mouth, Charles showed me a series of his latest purchases; we were not going to be enacting anything like the carrot scene from Fast Times at Ridgemont High, it turned out; rather, I learned to my surprise that dildos come in a truly extraordinary range of shapes, sizes, and textures.

"Miss Tilton," Charles, as trainer, said, "I have heard from your husband" (remember, the premise of this whole training thing is that Charles--who actually is my husband--is pretending to train me for the pleasure of my husband, because that's what I was writing about in the Victorian Emily stories) "that your attainments in this area are already quite high. He had to admit that really he has nothing to complain of, and that you have fulfilled his wildest dreams of--not to put too fine a point on it--face-fucking."

I groaned at the "point" pun, and Charles gave me a hard smack with my paddle in retaliation. For the lesson I had been placed on my knees, and the chain extended down from its bolt in the ceiling (see here for the configuration of our dungeon) and attached to my cuffs where they had been fastened together behind me. Charles was standing on my left side, holding my paddle in his right hand, the better to spank me whenever he felt it necessary.

He had already felt it necessary quite a bit, since my reaction to the revelation of his amazing dildo collection a few minutes before had been to giggle. Now, as with his left hand he pulled the chain up firmly, bending me over, and with the right gave me another spank, I peered down into the box and tried to figure out just how many dildos were in it. At least ten--maybe as many as twenty, assuming that some of the ones on top were covering others underneath. I couldn't, that is, see the bottom of Charles' Big Box of Dildos. I also couldn't help giggling again, and my bottom paid a severe price.

"Ow!" My eyes were watering, now.

"This is the issue, Miss Tilton, and it's the reason that despite your remarkable attainments in face-fucking your husband did request that here at Smith's you be humiliated in this department in a very special way."

Dramatic pause; I wasn't sure why. Then: "Is it not recorded in your own hand that you don't like giving head?"

Uh-oh, I thought.

"Um, yes," I replied. "But. . ."

He spanked me again. This was becoming painful but also, of course, very hot, and I could feel myself headed for subspace. "Silence!"

Another pause. Another spank, at which I gave a genuine yelp of pain, and then he continued.

"When I mentioned that passage, and discussed it with your husband, he was very much in favor of a regime that I suggested to him. . . a regime designed at one and the same time to increase a husband's pleasure when engaged in face-fucking and to make certain that a submissive wife understands that while her feelings about having her face fucked are not important, nevertheless the submission she owes to her husband demands that she learn to love having him shove his cock down her throat and, if he wants, pull her hair."

"Glug." This lesson had taken a turn both thrilling and, frankly, a little frightening for me.

"My regime is called 'The Grateful Fellatrix'," Charles continued. "It works as follows. You will have your face fucked by each of these dildos until I feel your mouth has become properly pliant. There will be nothing involved but your mouth and the dildo, and you will yearn for your husband's hand in your hair a long time before I finally adjudge you ready."

He moved in front of me, and opened his dressing-gown, to reveal his lovely, half-erect cock. Solely, I think, because I knew he wasn't going to give it to me, I wanted that cock in my mouth, the head shoved to the back of my throat, more than I ever had before.

Yes, I had written, in Emily's First Submission, that in reality I don't really like giving head, and I had in particular cited the hair-pulling problem. I had contrasted giving head with anal, the discomfort associated with which I endure much more happily.

I've left that passage in Emily's First Submission because it represents an accurate record of how I once felt about giving head and, truly, the basic feeling that I don't enjoy it has never really gone away. Even when I'm just letting Charles have at my mouth, and I'm deep in subspace, it's just so much work, and it's constantly threatening to ruin my immersion in the scene.

But for that very reason, from the time that Charles did this goofy lesson with me, with all the dildos, there's been something else that transcends and supersedes the basic failure to enjoy. I suppose at root it's just the bedrock of Dominance and submission: my true submissive pleasure arises in the pleasure of my Master. Somehow, though, when it came to pleasuring my Master with my mouth, until that day I hadn't understood how to connect the uncomfortable sensation of a mouth over-full of a thrusting object with the act of the imposition of that object, and the dominant will of my husband behind that act.

That's all theoretical, I suppose, and the principle I'm talking about will probably be a lot easier to grasp if I just go on and describe what Charles did to me then.